distillation

i love to cook, and for a home chef i am quite good (if i do say so myself:). one of my favorite methods to play with is the reduction. from a simple balsamic reduction of vinegar into a dark, sweet, and savory drizzle of magic; or the use of a wine or spirit to deglaze and reduce adding flavor and intensity to a dish in it's early stages. it seems, however, that as i age this concept creeps into my relationships as well. i am the vinegar. full bodied and flavorful with many uses, place me in a pot and simmer me on low until i reach my mid 30's, and i become something refined and discerning. lacking confidence in my youth i was willing to be used in a variety of dishes and ways; however i am now confident in my rich and dense attributes; and no longer will accept being dumped in mass quantity on anything in front of me.

in my adolescence and twenties it was about quantity, quality being a mere pleasant surprise. this was true of friends, food, hell - life in general! over the years i have sought my education through self analysis and experimentation. slowly but surely i have learned what my tastes truly are. i have learned a lot, and continue to do so. for instance i would prefer to drizzle my edible masterpieces with a small amount of thick, succulent, balsamic reduction; than to dress a large plate with a thin and unsatisfying cheap vinegar. similarly i would also rather savor the goodness of a small, high quality, network of friends than drown my schedule in a sea of semi-friends (definition- semi-friend: someone who may offer quantity, but not quality in respect to your relationship. aka-cheap vinegar:). despite knowing this i seem to be in the stage of life where every now and again i must test my theory and dowse my dinner in the old dressing of my 20's, thinking it will hold the same delights it did back then. always i am left feeling unsatisfied, until finally i say ENOUGH! enough dinners that are either lackluster or ruined altogether. enough mediocrity. enough.

ambiguity

hell is not an ambiguous place ( i wouldn't imagine it is at least), and yet ambiguity is a pretty powerful form of hell here on earth. we call it all sorts of things like, "being in limbo", or "transition", but for me an ambiguous place in life is not somewhere i can comfortably dwell for long. it activates all of my "stuff". the parts of me that i have worked so hard to heal and move forward from all come rushing into play when my life stumbles upon a state of flux, limbo, transition, blah blah blah. however one dresses it up, it sucks... big time.

i think the pieces to ambiguity that really chap my ass are the unknowings. those pieces of the transition time that are hazy and unclear make my stomach turn, and my skin crawl. i could vomit just thinking about it. i like to know. everything. all the time. is that too much to ask? what's that you say, it IS too much to ask? well, fuck you. i still want it.

did i mention that ambiguity makes me really angry? makes me want to beat someone with the recklessness of my tumultuous adolescence. not a good feeling for this grown-up pacifist who prides herself of remaining calm in crisis, and pragmatically thinking through my actions. all i have to say about that is that there are people out there who should thank their mother-humping stars that i am a fully realized grown-up who holds herself accountable for her actions; because quite frankly, i could shank a bitch right right now. dear lord, that is inappropriate, and counter to my feminist beliefs on so many levels. this is what ambiguity does to me, it turns me against my own core values and makes me feel rage-filled in a way that i am really not comfortable with. luckily, i do not act on these feelings. i talk about them, write about them, and work through them by seeking to understand the shit storm around me. good times.

it's a pleasant way to spend the day, picking up a piece of fallen shit and examining it until i can know in my gut what it really is, and how it came to be in my life... and then moving on to the next hunk of excrement. once a piece is properly identified and classified it shape-shifts into a clear glass mound with smooth edges; the weight of which feels good in the hand, and can be placed proudly on the display shelves of healing person's psyche. it's like when lightening strikes in the sand and makes a free from glass sculpture, it came from a traumatic event, but now it is a stunning reminder of the beauty that comes after the storm has passed. if you don't look for the beauty however, you will never find it. it is buried underneath the sand and shit, only to be discovered and appreciated by those who are up for, and dedicated to, the excavation.

poor baby.

if this blog were my child i would owe her a lot of money for therapy due to severe neglect. lo siento sweet girl, i will try and be more attentive from here on out.

i've been mulling over the adage "actions speak louder than words" a lot lately. it is a standard that i not only believe, but hold myself and those in my life accountable to. there have been far too many times when i could look at someone who was talking to me, and i could see right through what they were saying. their words ringing hollow and lifeless, their actions (or lack thereof) screaming in contradiction. it makes my stomach turn and my skin crawl, i have never been able to abide this violating form of lying in my life.

some might say my expectations are too high, i would challenge this notion by clarifying that i don't expect flawless actions from anyone (myself included); what i do hope for in others is the courage to be honest and challenging with themselves when faced with dilemma, confusion, and the simple choices of the day. i don't think this is too much for us, as fellow members of the world community, to ask of each other. what is so bad about saying, "i'm confused about ______, and i feel myself veering away from living a life that meshes with my values and integrity, i need to get some help."? (even if you say it to yourself in your own head). AND THEN FOLLOWING THROUGH ON THESE WORDS BY *gasp* TAKING SOME ACTION TO CHANGE YOUR COURSE. it's not rocket science people. we are all human, we all fuck up in large and small ways.

recently someone added to my adage (say that 10 times fast!) with "...and results speak louder than actions". (hi adam!) i don't agree. i think results can vary, and not necessarily reflect ones efforts. i know there have been many times in my life where i can look and say that did everything correctly on paper. i dotted every i, crossed every t, and followed the rules laid out for me; in other words i took all of the right actions while making my intent clear and purposeful. yet still i didn't get the results that matched my actions. in these circumstances i think there lies a perfect opportunity to practice what i'm preaching here. i could be bitter, jaded, and blaming of others that my strong efforts didn't pay off, or i could let go of the things over which i have no control, and look forward to how i will handle my actions and reactions to these events. self- analyze, breathe, and reboot. additionally i think it is a slippery slope if one gets too tied to results. i believe it is the effort, the sheer act of acting on ones beliefs, convictions, or values that speaks to someone's honor and intentions; not so much what comes of said actions (although, aren't positive results awesome when they come together?!). i would go even a little further and say that being too tied to results can set one up for becoming a words-without-actions-asshole because not getting what we want is a perfect excuse to stop doing and start whining.

*to be clear, my friend adam is not an actionless asshole, quite the opposite actually. he's a good egg, but i still disagree with his black and white boy brain. in other words, no adams were harmed in the writing of this blog ( i hope). :-)*

there is a subtle place in human beings that i believe is a major contributor to defining our character: it is the place where we decide to own our behavior, and do our work; or excuse away our behavior onto others, and deny the issue that is a blinding red light in our face. notice that neither of these options include not fucking up in the first place, it is assumed that we all do/ will continue to, so go ahead and fuck up i say! have at it. be the flawed human that you are, and then look at what happened, evaluate how it made you (and others) feel, and decide in an honest and real way what you are going to DO to rectify the situation at hand, and ensure that your next mistake (and there will be one) is something new and different to deal with. no one likes a broken record, especially if it's skipping on on a horrid song.

always on my mind...

my dad's side of the family used to get together often for what we called "jam sessions". the whole lot of them were musicians masquerading during the day as lawn mower repair men, office workers, door to door salesmen, housewives, etc... when it was time for a jam session, dad was on drums and vocals, aunt mimi played the accordovox (known to the rest of the world as the accordion), and uncle dickie was the standard on the guitar. depending on who showed up there might be random others sitting in. everyone would drink a lot, eat a lot, and drink more. the hallmark for me to know the night was a success was when my great uncles would start calling me "grandma lee" and giving me 2 dollar bills. i have A LOT of 2 dollar bills to this day.

they would play a variety of music, mostly old country. a variety of toasts and tributes would be given in slurred speech and the kids would eventually find somewhere to fall asleep when the sun was coming up.

one of my dad's favorites to play was willie nelson's 'always on my mind'. so slow and sad it would help everyone tap right into their trauma, which there is never a shortage of in my family. getting to that place of despair was always the ultimate goal.

tonight, a random tuesday late at night, i am up watching bad tv; and what do i hear but willie's weathered voice singing 'always on my mind'. it's a commercial for the ASPCA, making a plea for people to help pets who have to "fear the ones that are supposed to care for them". they show pictures of various broken spirited dogs and cats in shelters, and i can't help but wonder where our commercial was. in fact, where is it today? where is the public advertisement that asks the public to financially support rescuing the abused and neglected kids in our society? there are over 700,000 kids in foster care in this country, and yet you rarely hear about it. these are kids who have suffered severe trauma; who are floating on a sea of uncertainty in unfamiliar and often unsafe environments. if they were literally floating on a wrecked barge off of one of our coast lines, these little children who need our help, would we just ignore them? i hope not. so why do we now? why don't we look at our neighbors, and examine our communities policies on caring for children? why are there people injecting themselves with known cancer causing fertility treatments when there are 700+ kids in minnesota alone who are LITERALLY waiting for adoption. FREE adoption. i don't understand this? i don't think i ever could. (which by the way, i am thankful for.)

if you find yourself filling your mind with "buts" right about now than you need to seriously reexamine your perspective. for example: "but those kids all have serious special needs, and i could never do that". or "but i need to have a child 'of my own'." (my personal FAVORITE). if you want a perfect child that needs no special considerations than you should forget about being a parent at all. EVERY kid has special needs. EVERY kid has challenges. guess what? so does every adult. i defy anyone to walk up to me, look me in the eye, and tell me that my children are not my "own". in fact, i double dog dare you. nothing has ever been more of me or from me than my amazing girls. i'm not some saint who just a has a big heart for 'this kind of thing' (something else we hear a lot). we are just regular average people with the capacity to love. we fuck up every day, and we love our kids. they will never know what it is to have to wander off somewhere in an unfamiliar house and try to find a safe place to crash because they don't know where their parents are... at least not on my watch.

long story short (or not), go ahead and adopt a rescue pet, and consider rescuing a child while you're at it.

shattered.

when something is broken an undetermined number of pieces that once seemed whole scatter.  in order for something to truly shatter it takes a sudden powerful jolt.  a single moment.  the slip of a hand.  shards disperse in what i would call a random pattern; but physicists will tell you that the pattern isn't random at all, but something very much predicable.  if it's predictable, is it predetermined?  what about the size of each shard, can that be foretold as well?  

you see, when i shatter something that is glass there are large pieces that usually get picked up first.  it's easy to see that they will cause a hazard if left to live out their destiny on my kitchen floor.  the next step is usually to sweep the floor repeatedly to find the smaller pieces that could do as much, if not greater harm than their large predecessors.   after the sweeping my nerves begin to settle from the jolt of a sudden crash and life begins to happen along it's new trajectory. (i.e.  i was going to make a smoothie.  now, i'm not.)  the thing that strikes me though is that there are always some pieces left behind.  no matter how diligent the person cleaning up the mess is, there is always a painful discovery at some point down the road.  sometimes the person who does the shattering is the one to find a small shard is embedded in their foot, but more often i think it happens to someone else.  someone that maybe you would never expect would be affected by your slip; or more likely someone that you knew would be affected if you didn't clean your mess very well, but whom you assumed would be fine as long as all the pieces were properly disposed of. 

i guess i am of the thought that the one who shatters can never get all of the pieces cleaned up themselves.  it takes more than one set of eyes to see each small glint of shiny glass hidden in places you wouldn't expect it to go.  maybe the trick is identifying the person (or people) who can see what you have missed, and will help you clean up what's shattered before others are hurt.